A Sweathog Night in Georgia
by Me
Summary: Washington, ten years later, relates the time the Sweathogs got pulled over in Hazzard County, Georgia during a road trip following their grduation in 1980.


Everyone goes down to Florida for a class trip, or at least they like to think about it. The Sweathogs probably did, too; after they graduated in 1980 or so. And, as I laid awake one night, the idea came to me. What if they'd stopped in a certain little town...  
  
A SWEATHOG NIGHT IN GEORGIA  
  
Gabe Kotter smiled at his lovely pre-teen girls. "Are you guys all set for the big game tomorrow night?" They showed their pom poms and "Buchanan High" sign. "Aw, that's great. You know, honey," he said to his wife Julie. "My great Uncle Mort used to coach basketball.  
  
"He did?" Robyn and Rachael said excitedly, listening in. The girls each did handstands and said, "Go Buchanan."  
  
"Your dad has so many uncles and cousins he doesn't know what to do. Look at those cartwheels," Julie said.  
  
"That's adorable. Anyway, Uncle Mort was having some problems. He couldn't get the team to practice for anything. Their fundamentals were terrible. So, he sat the team down and had a team meeting."  
  
"What's that?" Robyn asked.  
  
Rachel answered, "I think that's where the coach yells at them because they been naughty," thinking of the times when they'd get in trouble and have a talk with their mom or dad.  
  
Julie nodded slowly as she watched their girls drawn into one of Gabe's stories. He continued. "It's kind of like that. But, Uncle Mort knew how to handle these guys, just like my former student Freddie does with his team. Uncle Mort got the whole team around him, picked up a ball, and said, 'Gentlemen, we need to get back to the basics. This is a basketball.'"  
  
"I'll bet they understood then," Robyn declared.  
  
"Well, not really. One of the players in back held up his hand, and said, 'Could you go a little slower, Coach?'"  
  
As his girls reached over to tickle him, Rachael said, "That's silly, Daddy." Soon, everyone was laughing and embracing.  
  
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Frederick Washington, first year coach of the Buchanan High basketball team, stood on the sidelines. He blew his whistle, and pointed at several teens lounging on the bench. He spke somewhat authoritatively to them. "Hey, we got a big game tomorrow against our archrivals. My bros Arnold, Vinnie, and Juan are gonna be in the stands, and so's Mr. Kot-teir," he emphasized, speaking of his former teacher, Mr. Kotter, and three other men who were his best buddies in high school. The four had been part of a group known as the Sweathogs. "It's the first time they get to see me coach. And, I want to make a really good impression on them, see."  
  
One of the students, a lanky senior named Dustin, flung back his head. "Aw, come on, man, we've got to plan our trip for spring break."  
  
"Look here, Dustin. I appreciate what you're sayin'. But, you've got to have priorities. Now Mr. Kotter, you know what he did once? When I was concentrating too much on basketball and not enough on my studies, he made me take a math test over. I didn't want to, so you know what he did? He challenged me to a pick-up game. He 'bout near killed himself out there, and he got 17 points off of me. He dang near beat me, man, when I thought I was gonna be the next Dr. J.. I had said if I won, I wouldn't have to do the test, and he agreed. But, you know what that showed me? Number one, it showed me I wasn't as good as I thought. But number two," he added, holding up two fingers, "he showed me he cared enough to play his heart out for something because it was right. And I decided I had to retake that test, anyway.  
  
"Now, basketball ain't as important as your studies. But, you signed up for this because you thought it was important to you. That means it's gotta take priority over that fun stuff you're gonna do over break." Washington could tell Dustin and his friends were getting a little tired of the talk. "Tell you what, man. You give me one hour of your hardest practice, and after practice I will tell you every detail, every embarrassing detail, of our senior trip ten years ago."  
  
Dustin rose, licking his chops at the chance to hear some embarrassing stories about his coach and role model. Freddie Washington knew just how to motivate him. The others followed quickly. "You're on, man," he said swiping the basketball from him.  
  
One hour of sweat, toil, and exertion later, nine very tired high school athletes rested on the bench. "All right, men," Freddie said enthusiastically, wiping his brow. "Phew. That's just the kind of play I want to see tomorrow night."  
  
He motioned the other players around him. "Okay, you held up your end of the bargain, I'll hold up mine. Well, you know Horshack, a couple of your girlfriends probably babysit his kids. Well, he was married by this time, but we decided to travel in the same car for part of the trip, while his new wife and some other girls travelled in theirs. This was right after we graduated high school, you see.  
  
"Anyway, there was a big train coming through, right after we'd gone ahead of the girls. So, they had to stop, and we sort of got separated. They didn't think anything of it; after all, we'd gone the wrong direction once before, and might have another time had the girls not been leading the way that time."  
  
"Man, we better not let you drive us to any of our away games," Dustin teased.  
  
Washington held up a hand to try and quiet the laughter. "Anyway, we took a wrong turn again, but the girls couldn't know we were off our route. We were just figuring out we were lost when we happened into a little town in Georgia..."  
  
  
  
Vinnie Barbarino, a dark haired youth of twenty - he'd taken several grades over before graduating - hung his arm out the window of the beat up old station wagon. "I still say we should have called Hertz and left the driving to them."  
  
Arnold Horshack, clad in green sweats, shook his head. "I don't want to drive if it hurts," he said for the fourth time since they'd started the conversation. His voice was quite high, and also quite nasal in its sound.  
  
Juan Epstein, a short youth with a very rough look and a multitude of ethnicities in his background, glanced beside him at Horshack. "Arnold, I've been trying to tell you, it's Hertz, U drive, it doesn't hurt."  
  
"Yeah, man, it's Hertz, U Drive all over the country," Vinnie said.  
  
"Why am I getting a sense of deja vu?" Washington asked as he navigated past some farms. He was thinking not only of the conversation, but of an old Abbott and Costello tape he'd heard. Mr. Kotter, their former teacher, was a great comedian. Long jokes with stories in them were his favorite. But, he lent his students some of his tapes of other performers on occasion.  
  
Vinnie waved his hand in front of his nose. "More like deja phew! What's that smell?'  
  
"Man, someone better give them pigs a nice long bath. Along with a year's supply of deoderant," Epstein declared.  
  
"Yeah, and that's just for today. Hey, there's a cop car behind us, Freddie," Barbarino suddenly shouted.  
  
"I didn't do it, honest!" Epstein shouted. "I've been with you the whole time, right guys?"  
  
"Now, Juan," Horshack comforted him as Freddie pulled over to the side of the road. "He's probably just welcoming us to the area. It's called Southern hospitality."  
  
The sheriff stopped his car, and walked up to the Sweathogs' vehicle. "All right," he declared, "khee, khee, khee. I'm Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane, and I caught you going 52 miles an hour in a school zone!" He began writing a ticket.  
  
"There ain't no school there, man!" Freddie complained.  
  
"Well, when people start obeyin' the speed limit we'll build one," he said in a somewhat gruff voice. "Let me see your registration."  
  
Freddie - and the others - were a little indignant as the sheriff wrote the ticket. Washington wanted to comply, but Epstein and Barbarino insisted that he not. "Why should you listen to him, he just wrote you a ticket for speding in a phony speed trap," Barbarino declared.  
  
"Yeah, why should we listen to him?" Epstein echoed.  
  
"Ijit," the sheriff uttered. "This here ain't no phony speed trap, it's a real one. Now, show me your ID!" he ordered as he handed Washington the ticket.  
  
Washington decided to go along with Barbarino, the leader of the Sweathogs. "Well you see, I just don't happen to have it here handy," he said with a hint of indignation and a broad, toothy grin.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Well, listen, you just step right out of that car. Come on, get, get, get," Roscoe insisted. He was going to have to frisk these people, he supposed. Although, four against one seemed like tough odds. But, at least they were co-operating upon getting out. All four were standing right next to the car, albeit grousing and complaining.  
  
Eptstin had been quickly scribbling something earlier. Now, he handed it to Roscoe. "Here, Sherrif, I got a note."  
  
"What? What's..." Roscoe read the note. "Dear Sheriff, please excuse Juan from all traffic stops on his way to and from Florida. He has head lice." He glared at Epstein. "Ijit, what kinda excuse is that for speedin' through a school zone!?"  
  
"Don't like that? I got a better one."  
  
Epstein handed him another note. Roscoe glanced at it, and tossed it on the ground. "Ijit, that note's dumber than the other one. What makes you think I'm dumb enough to believe you got hoof and mouth disease?"  
  
Barbarino and Washington glared at him as Horshack wandered away. Epstein looked defensively at both of them as he stammerd, "Hey, we're out in the middle of all these farms, and it's the first thing I thought of."  
  
"Oh, look at the cute little puppy dog," Horshack cooed as he looked at the hound dozing in the patrol car. He turned toward Roscoe and asked, "What's his name?'  
  
"Leave Flash alone, my dog's tryin' to take a catnap."  
  
"How can a dog take a catnap?" Barbarino asked.  
  
"Maybe he's dreamin' about chasin' cats," Epstein suggested. "Hey, that's none of your beeswax what he's dreamin' about. Now, which one of you's the leader of this here group?" Barbarino strutted forward and started throwing his hair back. "What's your name?"  
  
Barbarino began singing and dancing. "Ba-ba-ba-ba-Barbarino," he sang.  
  
"Ijit, cut it out with that lousy singing. You're about to make me wish I was chasin' them no good Duke boys, instead. Now, what business do you have drivin' through here with no registry for this here vehicle?"  
  
Barbarino looked around, as if clueless, and said, "What?"  
  
"This vehicle, you don't have no registraion, how come?"  
  
Barbarino looked around some more. "Where?"  
  
The four sweathogs gather around. "Hey," Epstein said in the huddle, "I think we're flustering him with those one-word answers. He's really fidgeting. We just have to keep that up, and we can get out of this ticket. We'll say the first word that comes to our minds." The others nodded.  
  
"Hey," Roscoe snapped as they broke the huddle. "It's not nice to whisper so other people can't here. Now, I see you got New York plates."  
  
"What?" Barbarino said.  
  
"On your car, you got New York license plates."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"On that car right there," Roscoe insisted. He could tell he was getting nowhere with Barbarino, so he moved to Washington. "You, where were you driving to?"  
  
"Basketball," Washington said swiftly, showing his bright white teeth.  
  
"All right, now we're getting somewhere. Where is this basketball game?" he asked Epstein.  
  
Epstein held up a finger. "Just a second." He motioned the others around him. "Is hub cap one word or two?"  
  
"I think it's two," Barbarino supposed.  
  
"Really, I wasn't sure. I thought it might be one," Epstain said as Roscoe became more and more perturbed.  
  
Smoke seemed ready to come out of Roscoe's ears as Washington spoke. "Yeah, but it might be hyphenated."  
  
"Good point. I better go with something else." They broke huddle, and Epstein asked, "What was the question again?"  
  
"Ijit! All right, I'll give you one more chance, and if you won't be serious for me here, we'll go back to the station!"  
  
Horshack stepped forward. "Hello. How are ya? I'm Arnold Horshack," he remarked, extending a hand.  
  
Roscoe shook his hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, what can you tell me about what you're going?"  
  
"Well, I would just like to say..." He thought for a moment. "Hamburger."  
  
"What? What kind of answer is hamburger? All right, I'm gonna cuff ya...No, I can't do that."  
  
"That's right," Epstein shouted. "Our rights are protected by the Twelfth Amendment."  
  
"All right, it seems I can't handcuff ya all, but I expect you to follow me into town, so I can have look at that there vehicle and make sure it isn't stolen. And no monkey business."  
  
Roscoe fumed. He'd never met such...brazen youths before. Nobody acted like that down South - he could tell they were from some big city, perhaps New York City. He was stunned by their attitude.  
  
He was even more stunned that they'd followed him. He almost wished that they hadn't, after how they'd acted before. Now, he would have to deal with them again.  
  
The Sweathogs made their way into the Boar's Nest, a local diner, and sat at a round table as Roscoe tried to explain to the county commissioner, Boss Hogg, why he'd struck a fire hydrant and sent water gushing as he tried to park his patrol car. "I can't believe you did that, Arnold, we were almost home free," Washington complained bitterly.  
  
"Well, I can't help it. I was hungry. Besides," Arnold defended himself, "you could have just shown him our license, and everything would have been all right."  
  
"Hey, it's no use arging over it. Let's just get something to eat and then get out of this stinky place. I can't believe the awful smell in these parts of the country," Barbarino complained.  
  
"Me neither. Once we leave, I don't want to come near another pig the rest of my life. I'm even gonna swear off of sausage," Epstein declared.  
  
"You don't eat it anyway; it's not kosher," Barbarino reminded him.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Boy, I was so hungry, I almost for-." His eyes widened. He began panting.  
  
"What is it?" Barbarino leaped up and felt him. "Oh, no, his palms are sweaty, he's breathing rapidly, his pulse is quick. I think he's having a heart attack."  
  
Washington looked next in the direction Epstin was looking. "Oh, no he's not! Oh, thank you, Horshack, thank you! I'm so glad you made us come here."  
  
Barbarino was perplexted for a moment, then turned in the same direction. "What? A minute ago you were saying...Whoa! I think I'm the one who died and went to Heaven." A beautiful brown haired girl, with hair halfway down her back and tight shorts, was walking toward them. "Guys, when you get back tell Nurse Bonnie I'm taking the next fifty years off of work," he said, lovestruck.  
  
"Even if this chick can't play basketball, she is the one for me," Washington said with awe.  
  
"Man, I love farm country!" Epstein exclaimed confidently.  
  
Horshack laughed in his typical "Heh, heh, heh" way as the waitress approached the table. "Hello. How are ya? I'm Arnold Horshack."  
  
"Well, it's a pleasure, I'm sure. I'm Daisy Duke. Can I get y'all something?"  
  
"Your lips," Barbarino suggested.  
  
"Your phone number," Washington added.  
  
"And a lovely coattage in the hills. It can be just the two of us," Epstein suggested. "We can even have all the pigs you want!" "I'm a happily married man. But, just so you know, I think you're the third most beautiful woman in the world, next to my wife and my mother," Horshack remarked, giving a "heh" at the end.  
  
"Well, that's great, congraulations on your marriage," Daisy said to him, assuming it must have been quite recent. He looked rather young, after all. She suspected he was still a teenager. "What brings you to our neck o' the woods?"  
  
"Your stupid sheriff had to look to make sure we didn't steal our car," Barbarino said.  
  
Epstein nodded. "Yeah, I even gave him a note from mom and everything." Epstein continued by adding that, "We're only a couple months behind on payments, honest."  
  
"Well, don't worry, I believe y'all. And hey, Roscoe's pretty crazy sometimes, but y'all don't need to worry about him. He'll let you go in no time," she assured them.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'll be the judge of that!" Epstein announced. "We see crooked stuff all the time back in Brooklyn."  
  
"Is that where y'all are from? I could tell your accents were unique," she said.  
  
"It's where we were from. But, I think we just found Paradise," Washington declared, gazing softly into her eyes.  
  
"Especially if you've got a couple sisters for them," Barbarino declared.  
  
Daisy blushed. "Oh, that's so sweet of you. Unfortunately, I don't even have a mom or dad. They both died when I was young, an' now I live with my uncle, who raised me, an' a couple cousins."  
  
Epstein rose and looked straight at her. "Well, have no fear, because I'll be by your side forever."  
  
"I would walk the ends of the earth for you," Barbarino declared.  
  
"My life is yours, and my heart is, too," Washington said.  
  
Horshack took Epstein's pen and began scribbling on a napkin. "Wait, slow down, these are such great lines. My wife will love them."  
  
"It was beautiful. Horschack and his wife had a tale just like East Side Story. Or was it South Side?" Barbarino asked nobody in particular. "Anyway, we came down together one final time, but he and she are making this their honeymoon when they get to Florida, and then they're getting their own car and driving back."  
  
"Aw, how sweet. Listen, I got some other customers, but I'd love to chat with y'all a little later. I got a break comin' in about thirty minutes," Daisy explained.  
  
"Fine, I'll be waiting. Lips and all," Epstein said as she walked away.  
  
After chatting some more, the Sweathogs got the proper directions, and prepared to leave for Florida. They ignored the ticket for the time being.  
  
Once they got there, they left Horshack and his wife to their own accommodations. They got their own rooms - one for the guys, one for the ladies - and met together on the beach.  
  
"Hey," Epstein told the other five, "I'm sorry again about how we got separated from you guys. But, I devised a foolproof way to elminiate any future problems." "What's that?" Washington asked.  
  
"I borrowed the CBs from a couple of them there sheriff's cars, and I'm gonna put 'em into ours for the trip back."  
  
"What, are you crazy, man?" Washington asked.  
  
"They'll be sure to trace them to us," Barbarino insisted.  
  
Epstein shrugged. "Hey, what's the problem? I'm usin' the money we saved in not payin' that traffic ticket, and I'm mailing them back to Hazard when we get back to Brooklyn."  
  
  
  
Washington had everyone's attention as he finished that part of the story. "So, did you mail them back?" Dustin asked.  
  
"Hey, of course we did. Now, I admit it wasn't the right thing to do, but since nobody but Epstein knew till we got far away anyway, we figured it was just as good to mail them from home as it was from Florida." He held up a basketball. "Juan's started to get a lot better, but he just had a wild way about him for a while. In fact, I guess we all did."  
  
"But, Coach, what about the ticket," a tough looking junior asked.  
  
"Oh, that." Washington laughed. "That's the funniest part. That there sheriff was so dumb, he actually sent a thank you note for the Cbs that we said we used to pay the fine. He said they were going to have to use the money to replace the CBs, anyway. That Roscoe didn't even catch on that Juan took 'em." Everyone laughed.  
  
Dustin smiled. "Well, I can tell you're a great guy, Coach. Ten years removed from that, and now Horshack's got a couple kids and a good job, Barbarino's a male nurse, Epstein's a newspaper reporter. You all show us a great example of how we can get up from the mean streets we come from."  
  
Washington nodded. "Yep. I guess, in a way, I just carry ont he same tradition Mr. Kotter had."  
  
"Yeah, and you tell stories that are just as long, too," Dustin declared. "I got him for class this year, too, you know. Did he ever tell you the one..." He began. And, they went long into the night telling stories from long ago that they'd heard or, in Washington's case, experienced. 


End file.
